


Pretty, Perfect Feet

by Second_Harrier



Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Tragedy, Body Horror, Horror, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:27:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23655331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Second_Harrier/pseuds/Second_Harrier
Summary: Rapunzel never wears shoes-ever. Everywhere she goes, she goes barefoot. Yet her feet never seem to be cut, scraped, or scarred. Why?
Relationships: Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider/Rapunzel
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	Pretty, Perfect Feet

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set during Season 2. It was written before the premiere of Season 3, hence the extent to which it differs from the events of the Season 3 opening.

It all started with an offhand remark from Lance.

They were a few days removed from their misadventure (disaster?) at the Great Tree. Adira had already vanished, as they’d become used to her doing. Without the caravan to ferry them along they’d had to do a whole lot of walking. Maximus and Fidella were there for the riding, of course, but there’d been an angry argument about who deserved to ride them and who didn’t, in light of things.

This argument had led to Rapunzel declaring that _everyone_ would walk, even her. Of course, in practice, this had been exhausting, and so as the sun set on another punishing day they settled around the fire that Eugene and Hookfoot had made. Shorty mumbled something to himself and drifted off into an early sleep. Nobody much minded.

And then came Lance’s remark, as they began to roast their meal of carrots and potatoes: “I gotta say, princess, for somebody who spends all their days going around without shoes, you have the prettiest, most perfect feet I’ve ever seen.”

“Aww, thank you, Lance!” said Rapunzel, grinning brightly at him. She really was flattered; it was quite a compliment, and Lance seemed to have meant it.

He _had_ meant it, and Eugene’s brown eyes grew narrow. “Um, excuse me, since when did you go around calling other people’s feet ‘pretty’?”

“Pardon me, Eugene,” said Lance, drawing himself up and immediately putting on airs. “I happen to be a connoisseur of feet.”

“Really?” asked Cassandra, rubbing some of the slick oil she’d found in the woods into the joints of her new armor.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” said Lance, puffing himself up even more, which Rapunzel knew meant that he was feeling insecure. “Feet, especially the feet of a beautiful woman, are a treasure. And your girlfriend, Eugene, old buddy, her feet are immaculate—pristine!” He flashed a glint of his eyes for effect.

Eugene just barked a laugh. “Yeah, okay, buddy. Whatever you say.”

And that would have been the end of it if Cassandra hadn’t said, “He’s kind of got a point.”

“Hmm?” asked Rapunzel.

“It’s just that, Raps, I’ve never, ever seen you wear shoes out here.”

“Ugh, shoes?” Rapunzel made a face and shook her head. “I didn’t wear them in Corona, I’m not going to start wearing them now.”

“Yeah, but we’re in the middle of the wilderness. We’ve walked over rocks and thorns and spikes and everything else we’ve had to deal with. But,” Rapunzel yelped as Cassandra grabbed her right foot, “your feet really are immaculate. There’s not a cut or a scrape or a scar on them. I’m not the only one seeing this, right?”

On cue, the entire rest of the party leaned in. “Huh, Cassandra’s got a point, princess,” said Hookfoot, observing the clean, pale sole.

“Oh, come on, is it really all that weird?” asked Rapunzel. “Pascal doesn’t think it’s weird, do you?”

Pascal chirped approvingly.

“The frog’s known you all your life, he doesn’t count,” said Eugene. “And while I always hate to concede a point to Cassandra, I’ve gotta say, Blondie, she’s right, and so’s Lance. For all the time you spend barefoot, your feet are awfully clean and healthy.”

Rapunzel jerked her foot out of Cassandra’s grip. She suddenly felt very self-conscious about both of her feet, and drew them up against herself, pulling her legs against her. Her knees drew up to her chin. “It’s… not _that_ weird, is it?”

“It is a little weird,” said Cassandra. “I mean, Raps, you don’t wear shoes, but there’s not a scratch on the bottom of your feet. Don’t _you_ think that’s weird?”

“No...” murmured Rapunzel, but she was rapidly feeling otherwise. “I’ve just… always been like that. My feet are fine. I sting and stick them sometimes, but by the end of the day they’re always fine.”

“Hmm...” hummed Eugene. He looked into her eyes. He could instantly tell that this conversation bothered her immensely. “Oh, hey, look, carrots are done! Who’s hungry? I make a mean carrot roast, come on, Lance, there’s gotta be some herbs around here we can use...” So the conversation shifted into a debate over how to prepare the carrots and the potatoes, and a grateful Rapunzel told Eugene that night how happy she was for what he’d done.

* * *

But the issue of her feet seemed to linger in the back of their minds, especially as they entered their fifth day of walking away from the Great Tree—or, where the Great Tree had been before it had been brought down (before Rapunzel in her terrifying power had obliterated it). They were walking through a deep, dense glade one day, the sky above a misty and indeterminate gray. Everyone was cast into a dark, foreboding shade, from Cassandra’s armor taking on a stormy quality to Rapunzel’s normally bright golden hair being thrown into a dull bronze.

“I am happy to report...” Shorty began, and the other five, plus the horses, paid him the courtesy of briefly glancing his way, “I am happy to report that I have found the fish I caught. It’s right here,” and he pulled a clearly rotting fish out from somewhere in his shirt. The other five either sighed or grunted or made noises of disgust, but all of them turned and continued on their path.

“Ow!”

The five others and the horses whipped around at once. It was the greatest of all shocks, because something that _never_ happened had just happened: Rapunzel was clutching her right foot, and with coos and hisses of breath she limped over to a fallen log not far off the path. Cassandra, Eugene, Lance, and Hookfoot couldn’t help but share knowing glances. All four of them remembered that conversation around the fire a few nights ago.

“Ow, ow, _owwww,_ ” cried Rapunzel, hissing under her breath as she cradled her right foot in her lap. She looked down at her foot and grimaced. “Wow, that’s bad. That’s worse than I’ve had in a while.”

“Rapunzel, are you okay?” asked Cassandra, moving forward, not as fast as she might have before the Great Tree but still swiftly. “Do I need to get the medical kit?”

“Oh, _ow_ , no, no, it’s already fine, or it will be soon,” said Rapunzel. She flicked her right foot out. “I’ll be fine in no time, really. I hate to hold everybody up, but if you just give me a little bit, I’ll be fine.”

“No you will _not_ ,” said Cassandra, gaping at the deep, bleeding wound in Rapunzel’s foot. “Raps, you look like you’ve been stabbed! What did you step on?”

“I’m not sure, it might have been a nail.”

“ _What_?” barked Lance.

“A nail? You stepped on a _nail_? An old, rusty, almost-certainly-disease-riddled nail?” Eugene said, his tone and speech speed accelerating as the full weight of what had happened washed over him. He looked at his girlfriend’s foot again: the wound was bleeding profusely, and the cut was deep enough that he saw hints of the underskin, the dermis. It really was very bad, and he was on the verge of panicking, especially if she really had stepped on a nail. “Cassandra, get the medical kit now. Oh, oh my gosh, okay, Lance, think, think! We need disinfectant herbs, we need something for tetanus, we need, oh, gosh...”

“No, no, oof, Eugene, it’s fine,” said Rapunzel. Pascal was perched on her shoulder, and he very pointedly did not seem to be worried. “Eugene, I’m going to be fine! It’s okay, this just happens sometimes. I get cut and scraped up all the time on my feet, I just try not to let you guys know unless it’s really bad, like this.”

“And it _is_ really bad and you are _not_ gonna be fine, not unless we do something!” cried Eugene. “Rapunzel, that’s too deep a cut! We need to...”

“No, ooh, _ooh_ , ahhh, that’s better,” and Rapunzel’s pained expression began to relax significantly. “No, Eugene, it’s totally fine, I’ll be fine in a little bit. See?” And she held up her right foot.

Eugene looked. He made a gulping, gasping sound. Cassandra was drawn in by this sound, and she made a face at what she saw. Hookfoot, Lance, Maximus, and Fidella were all gradually drawn in to look at Rapunzel’s right foot, as Shorty puttered around on the outskirts of everything. The other six couldn’t stop staring. Rapunzel’s nail wound was _healing_. It healed as they stood there and watched. The bleeding had long since stopped, and even as they stood there, as mere seconds ticked by, the skin around the gash pulled itself together. What had been a serious stab-cut wound was, after a few minutes, reduced to a mere flesh wound, and as they all stood around and watched longer, even this flesh wound was filled in with flesh, until it had been a little over ten minutes and, as Rapunzel flexed her toes, they saw that her deep, serious foot wound was completely gone.

“There, see?” said Rapunzel, rising to her feet. Pascal chirped brightly on her shoulder. “Like I said, no big deal.” She walked back out of the woods onto the path, with no limp or any sign of discomfort. “Now, come on, we...” she stopped. She turned. None of them had followed her. They were all still standing and staring at her. Rapunzel made a face, a worried face, a face like what she’d made that night when they’d all stared at her feet too much. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Your… uh, your foot, princess,” said Hookfoot, trying to be as polite as possible.

“It’s all better, see?” Rapunzel held up her right foot like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Yeah, that’s kind of the problem, princess,” said Lance. “You see, that healing, that wasn’t normal.”

“It wasn’t?” asked Rapunzel. “You mean, all of your feet don’t fix their cuts like that?”

“What?” cried Eugene. “No. No! Rapunzel, if I ever cut my foot that badly it would take days, maybe weeks, to fully heal. Nobody heals a foot wound that fast.”

“Nobody except you, apparently,” said Cassandra, coming forward. She had a strange expression: not shocked, but not happy, either. “Rapunzel, have your feet always been able to do that?”

“Um, yeah,” said Rapunzel. “I mean, I think so. When I was a kid in the tower I would sometimes get splinters, but they were always gone pretty fast. And my feet have always been perfectly fine walking on grass or mud or stone...” she gave them an amazed stare, a gaping stare, as though it was they who were strange, not her. “You mean, all of you… your feet _don’t_ heal like that?”

“Nope,” said Lance. “Not as long as I’ve paid attention to ‘em, princess.”

“Like I said, Raps, nobody heals that fast except you. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Wow...” Rapunzel’s eyes bulged. “Oh, _this_ is why you made such a big deal about my feet not having scars and cuts! Because it’s...” she glanced aside, trying to hide how she felt. “Because it’s not normal.”

Eugene came to her and gently gripped her hand. “You know what, Rapunzel? It’s not normal. But I’m really, really glad.” He kissed her cheek tenderly. “I’m glad you healed. I’m glad you heal so fast. I’m glad you’re all right.”

Rapunzel leaned up and kissed his lips. “Thanks, Eugene.”

“Actually, this really does make me feel better,” said Eugene, quickly back to his old high spirits. “I mean, in the back of my mind it did always bother me how you never put shoes on. But now that I know it’s no big deal, there’s just one less thing for me to worry about!”

“I wonder if it’s just her feet?” asked Lance.

“What does that mean?” asked Rapunzel.

“Well, princess, it’s just that I don’t ever see you get cut up or scraped much out in the wilderness, not just in your feet but on your arms, either,” said Lance. “Do you just heal fast all over? Do you heal easily no matter where you get hurt?”

“All right, that’s enough talking,” said Cassandra. “Show’s over, people, let’s get moving.”

“For once, I agree,” said Eugene. “Come on, guys, it’s miles to the next town, let’s get a move on.”

So, with a few more murmurings here and there, the six of them set off, Maximus and Fidella in tow. But Rapunzel kept turning over Lance’s words, just as she’d done the first time he’d mentioned her feet.

* * *

It was a few days after Hookfoot had left them, left to go with his brother on their new worldwide tour. The four of them had been genuinely sad to see him go. Not only was he relatively pleasant company, he had acted as a ‘neutral’ element in their group. Lance and Eugene naturally clove together, as did Eugene and Rapunzel and, until recently, Rapunzel and Cassandra. But the four of them, together, didn’t quite fit as well into a whole as they fit into their pairings here and there. Hookfoot had been someone they could all converse relatively calmly with; they were all friends with him, but they held no deeper connections and no secret emotions regarding him. Hookfoot had been an uncomplicated element of the party. With him gone, both the positive and the negative emotions between the four of them (Shorty never counted) seemed to be heightened.

“Lance, would you quit hogging the butter?” asked Cassandra one evening, as they gathered around the fire.

“Um, pardon me, I’m only putting on what I _thought_ was the precise amount of butter I was allotted,” said Lance, arching his eyebrows. “You already used plenty, Cassandra.”

“You’ve used twice as much as I used!”

“You also did have another piece of the bread, Cass,” said Eugene, which earned him an approving look from Lance. “If you get to have more bread, I don’t see why Lance doesn’t get to have more butter.”

“That doesn’t make sense!” cried Cassandra. “Rapunzel, back me up here.” She turned when she got no answer. “Rapunzel?”

Rapunzel was staring down at her bare feet, flexing her toes.

“Rapunzel, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, huh? Nothing. Uh, Lance, you really should give Cass the butter.”

“What’s wrong, Blondie?” asked Eugene.

“It’s just that…” she sighed. “I’m sorry, I keep thinking about my feet.”

“Why? They never get hurt,” said Cassandra with a deadpan voice.

“I mean, what I’m _really_ thinking about is what Lance said back when you first told me my feet weren’t normal.” Rapunzel’s green eyes glimmered in the firelight. She had a very strange expression on her face. “Is it _just_ my feet? Or do I heal like this all over? I want to know.”

“Well, ha ha, that’s not morbid at all,” said Eugene, desperately smiling.

“I guess it is a little morbid, but… I want to know.” Rapunzel’s left hand flickered up. It was holding a small, sharp knife with a golden guard.

Of course everyone recognized it. “Rapunzel, come on, give that back,” said Cassandra. “When did you get your hands on my knife, anyway?”

Rapunzel stared straight at the fire, unblinking, for several long moments. “I want to know,” she said quietly, barely heard above the crackle of the flames. “I have to know.”

“Rapunzel, this is silly, give me back my _RAPS!"_ Cassandra shouted, and everyone else yelled in shock and horror as Rapunzel took the knife and sliced open the palm of her right hand. Blood immediately burst from the wound, boiling out and pattering onto the grassy ground.

Even Pascal was shocked, loudly chirping and quirking and skittering all across her shoulders. Rapunzel herself hissed and grunted as the pain lanced through her.

“Rapunzel, what are you doing! What have you done?” cried Eugene. “Why would you-- What was-- Why--?”

“Ah! Ah! Ah,” Rapunzel cooed, taking several deep breaths. Then her eyes widened. “Oh. Ahhh...” She smiled. “It’s okay, Eugene.”

“No, it is not okay! You cut yourself! You cut your own hand open! Why would you--”

“No, it’s okay, really,” said Rapunzel. She held up her right hand. “See?” The rest of them leaned in to look, and once again their eyes bulged. The cut had already stopped bleeding. The red gash that spanned her entire palm was shrinking even as they watched, the skin mending and knitting itself together. As with her foot wound, about ten minutes passed with all of them simply sitting there, watching Rapunzel heal, until at last the wound had vanished totally, not even leaving a scar.

“Whoa,” said Eugene.

“See? It’s not just my feet,” said Rapunzel with a satisfied smile. “Lance was right.”

“Ha! I knew it,” said Lance, grinning in a very satisfied way.

“How, though?” asked Eugene.

“It must be something related to the Sundrop,” said Cassandra. “It can’t heal others any more, but it can still heal _you_. Its power is still inside you.”

“Well that’s… I’m glad!” said Rapunzel. But her happy expression faded immediately when she saw Cassandra scowling at her. “Cass, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she muttered, glancing to the side and forcing a neutral expression.

“Well, okay, look, we’ve satisfied all our questions. Can we please not talk about any of this any more?” asked Eugene.

“Well, you know, we haven’t satisfied _every_ question,” said Lance, smirking at him. “Just how immortal is the princess, Eugene?”

“Don’t even start, Lance,” said Eugene, sounding profoundly annoyed.

“I mean, if she fell of a cliff, would all her broken bones fix themselves in a few minutes?” asked Lance, glancing up into the starry night sky. “If you cut off her arm, would she grow a new one? If you cut her in two, would _two_ Rapunzels grow out of the halves?”

“Can we please, _please_ not talk about dismembering my girlfriend?” cried Eugene.

“I’m not exactly comfortable with this either, Lance,” said Rapunzel.

“I am going to go use the little boy’s room,” said Shorty, standing up and walking off into the darkness.

Cassandra stood up as well. “You know what, we’re running low on firewood. I’m going to go find some more.” She had a distinctly angry expression on her face, and she turned away from the rest of them abruptly.

“Cass, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m _fine_ , Rapunzel,” snarled Cassandra. She walked off into the darkness, out of range of the firelight, but before she was completely swallowed by the blackness, Rapunzel saw her pull the glove off her ruined right hand.

* * *

Rapunzel had never thought of herself as a morbid person. This wasn’t to say she was squeamish around death. Death had come as a shock to her after living with Gothel, who of course had taken such great pains not to die. But she processed it reasonably well. She was always careful to make the Sign of the Cross when passing a cemetery, and she believed in being reverent around tombs and sepulchers. She took death in stride, because it was a part of life. But she didn’t dwell on it, and she didn’t spend her thoughts on things like decay, ruin, blood, injury, and misery. Who could possibly do that? Not her. Death would come when it came, and in the meantime life was very good.

In the aftermath of discovering her healing abilities, though, Rapunzel couldn’t help certain morbid thoughts creeping into her normal train of consideration. Like all her recent ruminations, this was spurred by comments from Lance, specifically his comments that had agitated Eugene so much. Just how powerful were her healing abilities? _Could_ she survive falling off a cliff or getting dismembered? What if she were impaled? What if her head was cut off?

The curiosity was insatiable, and it began to cause disturbing thoughts to creep into her head as they walked. They would pass waterfalls, and she would consider throwing herself into the current. Around the fire at nights she’d be tempted to stick her arm in, to see if she could rapidly heal burns. She was tempted to jump into the middle of dueling practice between Eugene, Lance, and Cassandra, just so she could be badly cut up—because she’d heal, right?

On and on, over and over, day after day, night after night—slowly, persistently, overwhelmingly the curious thoughts of pain, injury, and self-harm washed over Rapunzel. Finally, one night a few nights after they’d rebuilt the caravan, she couldn’t stand it any more. She snuck from the cheery yellow camper out into the woods, careful to close the door so silently behind her that she made no noise. With no shoes on, she easily made her way away from camp without a sound, wending through the forest dappled and spattered with eerie blue-white moonlight.

At last, she came out into a clearing, where the high grass grew and the flowers swayed quietly in the gentle breeze of midnight. The moon shone brightly overhead, almost completely full, its pale light seeming less cheery and more exposing than she was used to. Or maybe that was all in her head. But she pushed her worries aside and walked across the open space until the rush of water guided her to the riverbank. In the moonlight the river was like a torrent of silver—a pale, lunar echo of the way her own golden hair flowed and billowed in the sunny breeze of day.

Rapunzel took a deep breath. She slowly pulled off her belts, and then slipped her dress off, along with all the rest of her clothing, even her underwear. Then she reached into the fold of her dress, lying there on the ground, and pulled out what she’d silently taken from the caravan. Cassandra’s knife glinted brightly in the moonlight, its small, sharp blade catching the lunar gleam and seeming transformed into a razor edge of silver. Rapunzel stared down at it for a few empty moments, her hair swaying heavily in the wind. Then she took a deep breath. She gripped the hilt backwards with both hands, and poised the tip just below her breasts, where the middle of her ribcage ended. She took another deep breath--

A chirp.

“Oh!” Rapunzel started, whirling around in shock and guilt. “O-Oh, Pascal, wh-what are you doing here?”

Pascal was gazing up at her with the widest eyes she’d ever seen from him. How long had he been there? How much had he seen?

“Pascal, I’m fine, don’t worry. Go wait over there, I’ll be done soon,” and she turned back from him, the knife still in her hands.

Pascal chirped again, louder, sharper, more insistent.

“No! N-No, Pascal! I’m fine! I’ll be fine! It won’t hurt me, not really! I’ll just heal, I know I will!”

A long, sharp stream of chirping.

“I have to, Pascal!” cried Rapunzel, not daring to look down at him. “I have to! I have to know! I have to know! I have to know just _how_ strong my healing ability is. I know it’s strong enough to save me, but I have to know! I have to see for myself! I have to… I...”

More chirping, then silence. Rapunzel was heaving breaths now, fear and shame and dread racing up her spine. She tensed her arm muscles… but she stopped. She turned. She looked down. Pascal was gazing up at her, his eyes somehow even bigger than before. He didn’t blink. He just stared. Rapunzel stared back at him, as the moon shone and the wind blew.

She blinked. She sighed. She lowered the knife. “You’re right,” she said softly. Horror and sickness roiled in her stomach and chest. She gazed at the knife in sudden terror. “What am I doing? What was I _thinking_? How could I have ever...” She relaxed her grip on the knife until it fell from her grasp and clattered to the ground. Then she sighed, and smiled, and suddenly the moonlight seemed beautiful again, in a way it had not in weeks. She turned back to Pascal, and bent down to pick him up. “Thanks, Pascal,” she said, nuzzling him tenderly. He gleefully chirped at her and gave her a kiss. “I’m so sorry for scaring you like that. Thank you so much. Come on, let me get dressed and we’ll go back to the caravan.”

She was able to replace the knife and return to bed without any of the others being the wiser. She did not tell them about anything she’d done that night, and for a while, the dark thoughts left her.

* * *

Somehow, they’d escaped.

When Cassandra had taken the Moo--…. When Cassandra had betra--…. When Cassandra had _done what she did_ , Rapunzel had laid there, up against Eugene, staring, horrified, in total shock. Cassandra had taken another step towards her, and then, at once, her hair had begun to gleam brilliant gold. Cassandra’s hair—along with the rest of the Moonstone’s chamber—had flared bright, icy blue in response, and all of a sudden the entire world had erupted around them. Thinking about it now, Rapunzel supposed that there had been an explosion, an eruption of power, similar to what had happened in Demanitus’ maze. The blast of energy had brought the entire castle down upon them, but her hair had acted again, its unbreakable lengths and locks shielding them as they crashed out of the disaster.

Now they were huddled, alone and defeated, in a swath of the giant black rocks that surrounded the Dark Kingdom. “They,” unfortunately, referred only to herself, Pascal, and Eugene. There was no sign of Lance, or Shorty, or Maximus, or Fidella, or Adira, or the Dark King (Eugene’s father? Really?). They had no idea where the others were. They didn’t even know if they were still alive. And there was no sign at all of…

“Cass,” whispered Rapunzel, staring dead at the ground. She wandered amid the rocks, cast in the darkest of shadows. Eugene hadn’t tried to stop her when she’d wandered off; she suspected he wanted to be alone right now just as much as she did. Her shock and horror were wearing off now, and in their place rose sadness and despair and a thousand questions she couldn’t even begin to answer. Why? Why? What did she miss? For how long? What happened? _Why?_

She stared down at her feet—her pretty, perfect feet, the feet that were still so pristine and healthy even amid the ruin and blackness of the Dark Kingdom. She watched them move, back and forth, as they carried her along; to where, she neither knew nor cared. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

“Ow,” she hissed as a sharp pain hit the bottom of her right foot. She lifted it, and her eyes bulged. There, amid the black dirt and dust of the debris that had flown from the castle, was Cassandra’s knife. Inexplicably. How had it been thrown so far from the explosion? She bent and picked it up. “Cass...” she whispered. “ _Cass_...” and now, now the sadness came, now her throat grew tight and tears welled in her eyes.

She felt the pain in her foot go away as the cut from the knife healed—and then, maybe, she understood a little. Not a lot. Not everything. There was a lot she still didn’t understand. But maybe a small part of… _all of this_ suddenly made sense.

And all it did was make her feel worse. “Oh, _Cass_...” she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. In that moment, Rapunzel felt absolute despair. In that moment, for the flash of a second, there was nothing good in the world. Everything was black—full dark, with no stars. In that moment, she felt like she didn’t want to know or think anything ever again. “ _Cass!_ ” she bawled, and in that moment, her despair prompted her to act in a way her courage never could have. With a flare of self-hatred she turned the knife, and with a sharp surge of motion she plunged it into her chest.

The pain was incredible, and blood erupted from the wound. She pierced a chamber of her heart and punctured one of her lungs, and the pain, the shock, the damage, and the loss of blood and air overwhelmed her. She dropped to her knees, eyes bulged wide and unblinking. She knelt there, amid the darkness, blood surging from her chest, not breathing, not blinking, not moving, barely thinking.

But, of course, this didn’t last. She’d known it wouldn’t, in the back of her mind. The blood flowed more slowly. What had been punched and gashed apart began to knit itself back together. There was a _splrt!_ and a burst of blood as the healing stab wound spat the knife out. The pain subsided into a dull ache that grew even duller with each passing minute. Her lung fixed itself, and she breathed deeply and clearly once more. Her heart beat regularly again. How long did it take? She couldn’t be sure. Maybe minutes. Maybe an hour. All she knew was that, in a relatively brief amount of time, she felt better, and a wound that would have killed anyone else had vanished without a trace.

“I can’t die,” she whispered, quiet and frightened-sounding. Tears fell hot and heavy from her eyes again, thinking about everything, but especially Cassandra. “I can’t die and I can’t get hurt.” She brought her knees up to her chest, blood-soaked dress bunching up as she curled herself into a ball. “I can’t get hurt… it’s just everyone _else_ who can.” She cried.

END


End file.
